Regrets
by MsMaggieHart
Summary: Anderson looks back over the past 3 months of his life.


It was raining. Not the kind of rain that Ben Anderson liked, not the small,

gentle rain. It was raining hard, the sky had turned black and the branches

from the large tree at the front of Anderson's home were banging against the

window, trying to get inside. All of the lights had been turned out, save for

the TV. On the news, a middle-aged reporter babbled on about weather

warnings and traffic accidents. Anderson sat in the middle of the kitchen floor,

legs crossed and palms flat on the floor, head hung as if he was asleep. Tears rolled down his cheek and dropped onto his shirt. There was a clap of thunder and

Anderson jumped and snapped his head up, fixing his eyes on the dark outline

of the windowpane. His mind was blank, no matter how hard he tried he

couldn't get any thoughts to come. He hated this long, distressing silence more

than he hated… well, himself. And right now, that was a lot. Blinking away the

tears, he retreated further into his mind and wondered how his life had become

like this.

_3 months earlier_

'_You bastard, how could you!' Cassandra yelled, grabbing anything she could_

_off the table. _

'_Cass-'Anderson ducked just in time as an ashtray was hurled at his head. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched as it smashed against the wall and crumpled to the floor. 'Cass, I'm sorry, I-I really am.' Turning around, his eyes widened as a book crashed into him, almost knocking him to the floor. _

'_You bastard, I hate you! How could you do this to me?' she yelled, furious. The phone call had come a few hours ago. Cassandra heard the nervous tone in her husband's voice and stormed over to him, snatching the phone from his hand. _

'_Why are you calling my husband?' she asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice. Anderson stood patiently, his eyes fixed on his wife. _

_He didn't think that she would tell the truth, they had promised each other the first night they slept together that the incident would stay between the two of them. But the incident soon turned into another, then another. It had been going on for almost a year now, and Cassandra had begun to get suspicious after a man walked up to him in the street and asked where his girl was. The man, it turned out, was the owner of the hotel that Anderson and his mistress visited regularly. Cassandra had ignored it, of course, though she had been acting strange ever since. _

_Now, as she put the phone down and turned to look at him, Anderson could tell that she knew. There was something in her eyes, something he had never seen before, and he didn't like it. Cassandra had disappeared into the bedroom, locking the door behind him, and had returned a few hours later with a packed suitcase. _

'_Wh-wait, you can't leave me..' Anderson pleaded, desperately, as his wife made her way to the front door. Rushing over to her, he fell to the floor and grabbed Cassandra's hand, looking her in the eyes. _

'_Please, don't leave me.' He begged, in a quiet voice. Cassandra said nothing. She grabbed her hand back and closed her eyes, before turning and walking through the front door. Anderson remained on his knees for about half an hour before he forced himself to get up._

There was another clap of thunder and Anderson took a deep breath. Looking around his kitchen, he knew this would be the last time. He took in all the smells, all of the sounds. He looked sadly at the painting stuck to the fridge door. His niece, Penny, had given it to him as a birthday present when she was five years old. He was saddened by the thought of never seeing her again. Looking down at the floor, he felt a shiver run through him. Lestrade had given it to him, as a gift for getting promoted to Assistant Commissioner. It was old, the dust had collected over the years and when he opened it for loading, it made a terrible creak. Looking at it now, he wondered why he hadn't bothered doing this years ago, before he met Cassandra, before he was promoted. Before anybody knew he existed. Reaching forward, he impulsively turned his head to the left. His dog, Spencer, was lying on next to his owner, looking up at him with sad eyes. 'Oh, don't look at me like that, I have no choice.' He says, petting the dogs head.

_2 months earlier._

'_You can't do this, I love you!' he exclaimed, staring into Donovan's cold eyes. She shook her head._

'_You don't love me; I'm just a replacement for your wife.' She said, leaning against the kitchen table. 'I can't keep seeing you.. I've met someone, he's a nice guy, and it's getting serious.' Anderson stood in the middle of the room, his eyes not once leaving Sally's face. He couldn't believe that this was happening to him again._

'_Who is he?' he asked, sadly. _

'_His name is Sebastian, you'd like him. You're so alike.' Anderson looked down at his feet, not wanting to say anything else. He needed to get out of that room. Sally took a step towards him. 'I'm sorry.' She says, leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek. Anderson closed his eyes, and refused to open them again until he heard the door shutting. Lifting his head, he looked around the room. It seemed smaller somehow._

_[2 days later]_

'_Anderson, can I see you in my office?' _

_Anderson had always hated Lestrade's office. It was too small, the walls were dark grey. He always felt like he was suffocating when he was in that room. _

'_Sit down.' Lestrade was sat in his usual chair. He straightened his tie, ran a hand through his hair then watched patiently as Anderson entered the room and sat down opposite him._

'_Something wrong?' Anderson asked nervously, already knowing the answer._

'_You know there is, Anderson. You almost killed a man!' Lestrade leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. 'You could have been arrested!'_

'_I know, I know. It was an accident, boss, you know it was. She walked into the firing line, I didn-'_

'_Yeah, save the excuses, Anderson. It's too late.' Anderson sat up in his seat, eyebrows raised._

'_What do you mean?' _

'_I mean, you're fired!' Lestrade said, a tone of remorse in his voice. Anderson looked at Lestrade. The day before, they had been closing in on a suspect and Anderson had his gun raised, ready to take him out, when a teenage boy walked into his line of fire. By that time, Anderson had already pulled the trigger, aiming for the suspect. The bullet grazed the boys arm, allowing the suspect enough time to escape. _

_Anderson stood up. 'I'm sorry, Ben.' He barely heard Lestrade's words as he turned and walked out of the office and the hallway. _

Anderson looked down at the weapon in his hands. A million thoughts were now rushing through his head. He wished they would go away.


End file.
